On the morning of Thursday, October 24, 1929, stock
prices plummeted. Vast numbers of people were selling their stocks. Margin
calls were sent out. People across the country watched the ticker as the
numbers it spit out spelled their doom. The ticker was so overwhelmed that it
quickly fell behind. A crowd gathered outside of the New York Stock Exchange on
Wall Street, stunned at the downturn. Rumors circulated of people committing
suicide.

To the great relief of many, the panic subsided in the
afternoon. When a group of bankers pooled their money and invested a large sum
back into the stock market, their willingness to invest their own money in the
stock market convinced others to stop selling.

The morning had been shocking, but the recovery was amazing.
By the end of the day, many people were again buying stocks at what they
thought were bargain prices.

On "Black Thursday," 12.9 million shares were
sold - double the previous record.

Four days later, the stock market fell again.

I wonder why Anna did not mention this event in her diary. Perhaps it did not have an effect on her or her family. ]

Monday, October 22, 2012

At first, my tears came easily. It sounds funny to me when I think of describing it that way... that it was easy. No, my grief wasn't and isn't easy. I don't like to cry. Who does? At first, though, Sadness was the ruler and I relinquished the tight control I usually maintain over my emotions and gratefully gave in. That's why, at first, my tears came easily.

As the days go by and the months pass, I am back to normal. It sounds funny to me when I think of describing it that way...that I am back to normal. No, my normal...it's not same, as it was. I still don't like to cry. Who does? I have taken charge and relegated sadness back down to it's dank recesses, where it belongs. That's why, as the days go by and the months pass, my tears don't come as easily. I am back to normal.

Most recently, though, anger comes lightly. It sounds funny to me when I think of describing it that way...that anger is light. No, my anger is not light. It is dark...much darker than sadness. It is a simmering geyser that periodically erupts and spews.

"What does she know about it?" "How can he be so insensitive?" "How dare you tell me to have a nice day...don't you know that I can never again have a nice day?" "Do you really want to know how I am doing?"
"HA! I didn't think so."

Yesterday, as I carefully listened to their voices, I recognized the words, the lyrics of their songs. It sounds funny to me to describe their tales as lyrical songs. No, their songs were not filled with happy music, but I could hum the tune and I knew the words and I could sing along.

When it was time for my solo, as I looked around the room into each pair of sad mirroring eyes, the tears came easily. It sounds funny to me when I think of describing it that way... that it was easy. No, my grief is still not easy. I don't like to cry. Who does? But, at the end of the day in the arms of another Joe's mother, I found the lightness of understanding.

Thank you, my Compassionate Friends.

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here are the entries from Anna's diary from the past three days:Sun. October 20, 1929
Went to 360 for dinner. Saw Bill for first time since he went away to College. Home early for supper. Junior to bed. Jean doing home work an I went to Mt. Prospect to see "Father & Son."Mon. October 21, 1929
Home all morning. After lunch decided to ride to Rae's for a visit, Not home so took Junior to Bambs for a hair cut and saw dog show and birds on display. Ran into Aunt Mary. All came home together.Tues. October 22, 1929
Home all morning. BAked chocolate layer cake. Raining furiously all day. Left in afternoon. Violet came over to play with Baby. Read a book and bed.

Friday, October 19, 2012

In my autumn stillness, I have been trying to master sock knitting. Well, perhaps master is a bit of an exaggeration. Let me re-word that. I have been doing a lot of practicing. I have tried knitting socks over the years, but I would get frustrated because I could never achieve perfection.

Saggy Old Lady Socks

Sock perfection, for me, means one thing. I want my socks, the socks I knit, to look like the samples I see hanging in the yarn shops. Whenever I am wandering around in one of these shops, I must go over to these samples, pet them, and then forlornly sigh. Why can't I make socks that look like those socks? I examine them to see if the PS (perfect socks) have gusset holes, like my socks inevitably do. But, no, they never do. There is no old lady sagging at the ankles, no big baggy heels and, get this, each one of the PS always, always, match perfectly. Why, each one is even the same exact size as its mate.

Not The Same Size Socks

So, when I was in high school, back in the day, all girls, that's right ALL girls had to take what they called Home Ec(onomics), which by the way, had nothing to do with economics. One half of the semester we concentrated on cooking, the other half on sewing.

The cooking part was okay. In fact to this day, my take away from that class is deviled eggs. Oh, yes and this lecture:
"Girls, remember, your husband will be happier if you take the time to put some butter on those canned string beans." "You know, it will just be a little more special."
I am not embellishing, it was just one of the many gems passed on from our teacher.

I sucked at the sewing part. I probably made an apron or something. I really don't remember.

But, many years later, I took a class, one of those adult evening classes in sewing. The instructor basically told me that, perhaps I should pursue another hobby. But I stuck with it and by the end of the class, I had made a lined winter coat for my daughter. It turned out pretty good, too.

The point of the digression into 1960's nostalgia is that I am tenaciously motivated by a challenge.

About three weeks ago I jumped back in with both feet (or actually two hands and four needles) and made these gigundas. The snowflake sock is what size these socks should be, if they were to fit me, that is.

Try, try again. I made these for Bella. They look a little better, don't they?

That is if you don't look too closely at the heels. I forgot to make the ridges pattern on the second sock.

I wonder if eight year old Bella will notice.

Nope, I'm not giving up. But, in the mean time, I bought a pair of sparkly purple shoes, which I hope might deflect attention from my NSPBIWNGUS(not so perfect but I will not give up socks).

Stay tuned for status photos of my pursuit of the PS.

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here are Anna's diary entries from the past three days.

Thurs. October 17, 1929

Charlotte here for laundry. Went to pick Mary at one, then went to her mother's for the luncheon given by Aluminum Demonstrator. Home for supper. Went to bed very early.

Friday October 18, 1929

Went to NY with Elsie and Gladys to buy a coat for Gladys. Bought a very beautiful black velvet trimmed with gorgeous fox furs. When we came back went to see "Madam X" all-talking. Good.

Sat. October 19, 1929

Home all day. Rosalie here until four. JEan came home around supper. Junior went to bed early. Jean told me Bill was home for the week-end from Princeton. Jean studying. I'm writing.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

At first, icy shock numbed the fresh wound. Like a cold compress it made my body quake.
Catatonically, I smiled and nodded at words of wisdom as if I understood. I mirrored and mimicked your sympathetic looks. "I greatly appreciated" all of your "xoxoxo's ".

In the beginning I cried uncontrollably. I choked and gagged as convulsive sobs stole my breath away. And I smiled and nodded and agreed that "yes, it will take time."

Then slowly my burning tears began to melt away the protective icy shell The soothing spell of the hypnotic state to which I had become accustomed was being chipped away by doses of harsh reality. I was frightened and talked about my sadness.
And I smiled and nodded and agreed that "yes, I suppose I should talk to someone...else"

Now, the raggedy edges of the hole have become sharpened by my steely resolve to hide the unsightly gash. They jab with knife like precision to remind me of its constant existence. I try to push away the pain. I walk very fast miles, and stare at flashing red neon numbers telling me that I have travelled 3.31 miles. But as I look around, I notice that I have not moved.

Two weeks ago, as we sat facing each other, you were dressed in your usual crisp white. You explained how, in time the rough edges will soften. And I smiled and nodded and agreed as I apprehensively say "okay I will give it a try."

But, the package sits here unopened, the blue label with its instructions and warnings unread.

Today, at 5:30 a.m., I awoke with silent tears, as I do every morning. I felt him hovering around me, as I do every morning. As always, I imagine my arms outstretched towards him, trying to pull him into me. I ache as I feel the hole pulsing with pain.
This morning, the pain refused to be contained and I had an urgent compulsion to write, to explain.
This morning I needed to say it "out loud".
I am hurting. I don't understand why. I miss my son. And finally, to finish out my daily mantra, I cannot believe he is no longer here.

This morning I didn't want to smile and nod.
This morning I wanted to be sad and cry.

But, as I continued to write I noticed that my load seemed a little lighter. I began to have glimpses of some kind of understanding.

Could it be possible that he will not be at peace until I am?

Maybe it is true, that once the edges of the hole have been smoothed, they will become pliable and therefore passable.

Perhaps then and only then will I be ready to allow him, by my side and as my gentle guide, to find his way back in.

Aha.

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here are the catch up entries from the past few days of Anna's diary:Sun. October 13, 1929
Home all morning alone with Junior. Went to visit the Naps about 2:30. Stayed there until six. Then left and went to see Grandma M. Her good day. Had supper with Grandpa.Mon. October 14, 1929
Junior and I went to Mary's for the day. Her sister-in-law Rose cut a dress for me she is going to sew.
Had supper there and came home. Junior went straight to bed. I read a book.Wed. October 16, 1929
Home all day. Made plans to go to Bob's banquet with Jean and Edythe. Her gown was very beautiful. Black velvet and tulle. Had nice time. Very tired and went home early.

Friday, October 12, 2012

I am thinking that perhaps I should have a daily, weekly, or sometimes whenever I feel like it, "go to topic" or whaddya call it uh, theme, that's it theme, for this blog.
Let's see if I can come up with a clever title for uh.. well like for instance, say I was going to start today, so maybe I could incorporate the day of the week, that would be...wait what's today, oh, okay, Friday.
Okay, Friday? Friday? What could I come up with that would fit in with Friday. Fry Day. What could I do with that. It makes me think of brain, fried brain. I kinda feel like that is what my brain feels like today, but what if my brain didn't feel like that next Friday. No, that's no good.
Free Day Friday. Yeah, I like that. Okay so now what do I do with that? I'm pretty much free to do what I want with this blog every day, it's my blog, so why would I have to have a Free Day Friday?
Hey wait a minute. I could just do this. Cuz, you see this is pretty much the way I think and talk. You know what I think is interesting? Wait do you care about what I think is interesting? Oh, who cares.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I thought about how different I "sound" when I write. I try to be all proper and stuff, using comas, and periods, and lookin' up words to make sure I am using the right word to fit whatever I properly want to say. I am always correcting my tense. I find that I do that a lot, have to correct my tense. I'm always checking to make sure I am being clear. And that who and whom thing drives me crazy! I generally try to come up with another way to say what I want to say to avoid those two words, unless I am absolutely sure. Hey, you never know whowhom who (?) is out there checking my posts. Sometimes my Jersey sneaks in and I leave a word out. Like, uh..oh rats, I can't think of an example right now. I'll come back to that. When I talk, I don't worry so much about being proper. Well actually that depends on who (?) I am talking to. But I kinda like to fall back on my Jersey. What? You don't know what that means? Oh, please! You know, my Jersey. No, not Joisey. I don't have a Joisey accent, but I do speak Jersey. Now if I were a life long smoker, which I am not, I have never smoked. Okay, there was that one time when I thought I could be cool like Jeannie Porto. She smoked. And she looks looked so cool. So, I'm on my way to somewhere, in my two tone '57 chevy. No, I'm not that old. I bought the car in 1965 from an old woman, man she must have been at least in her fifties, old, really old. Anyway I paid her 100 bucks for the car. So, I'm riding down the highway on the way to, uh I think the bowling alley. That's where all the cool smoking girls hang out. No, not smokin' hot. I mean they all smoked, at the bowling alley. In the car, I light the ciggie with my car lighter. Well, that's because I didn't carry matches or a lighter with me, being a new smoker and all. So I light up using the car lighter and take a puff. I didn't inhale, I swear I didn't. Mainly because I didn't know how. I put the ciggie in the ashtray and there must have been some paper or something in the ashtray cuz, all of a sudden I have a fire goin'. So now what? I am in the middle of this Freeday and my stupid computer keeps cuttin out. So I go to check to make sure all of the plugs are in tight and as I bend down to crawl under my desk, I bang my head on the keyboard draw, you know the one that pulls out,(yep, that's jersey for drawer) anyway, now I have a bump on my head. Urgh, I can't stand it! Now it's not only Fried Brain Friday, but I am now angry, well mad actually. Back to the smoking car incident...that was the first and last time I smoked. But, like I was sayin up ⬆ there somewhere... if I were a lifelong smoker, I would have the gravely voice to go along with my Jersey, but I don't. I have this little soft voice. People are always sayin' what? to me. Well not everyone, Jen, and Johanna, they don't say what cuz they hear me, cuz they talk like me. BTW, this is not fast talking. I don't fast talk. I slow talk, hesitate talk, pause talk. So if I were talking this post, it would take me a long time.
It's 7:59. That's it, I gave myself till eight to finish this post. It's treadmill time. If I don't do it now, I will talk myself out of it. I have a whole treadmill thing I do. So I'll probably tell you about that next Free Day. If you stuck with me to the end of this, you are brave and loyal. Bye.

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here is today's entry from Anna's diary:
Sat. October 12, 1929
Columbus Day. Jean, Rose, Jewel, Rick and Pa went to Princeton to see Bill and Brown - Princeton game. Home all morning. 360 in afternoon. Back home early. Baby to bed early. All alone.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

In yesterday’s post I wrote about the slew of new daytime talk shows and gave a slight nod to the Katie Couric show.
The title of the October 8th show was “To Heaven and Back".
Her guests included Dr. Mary Neal, “a woman who spent 15 minutes underwater and lost consciousness", an eleven year old boy, Colton Burpo, who shared his near-death experience, Akiane Kramarik, an art prodigy, who "began to have visions of being in heaven and meeting God" and Theresa Caputo, aka, The Long Island Medium.

Katie started off the show by holding up a copy of the October 8th issue of Newsweek. The cover story was "Heaven is Real". This article was written by Dr. Eben Alexander, a neurosurgeon who tells of a journey to the afterlife when he was in a coma.
Reader's comments on the Couric show's website and on The Daily Beast dot com, which excerpted the Newsweek article, ranged from blissful acceptance to ridiculing skepticism.
On the skepticism scale, with one being mildly skeptic and ten being ridiculing, I would rate myself to be an eight, leaving some room for "anything is possible, I guess".
Two of the guests on the Couric show had an effect on me.
The first being Theresa Captuo. My opinion, regarding the Long Island Medium, is total, all in skeptic. But as I watched her work the crowd, I completely understood why members of the audience were hooked in.
With tears in his eyes, a man in the Couric audience, described his mother's last few moments. Caputo assured the man that his mother was right there and wanted him to know that she was okay.
I too, found myself wishing it were real. I wandered off and wondered what messages my mother or my son might have for me.

The second guest who had an effect on me, or at least lowered my skepticism rating somewhat, was the art prodigy Akiane Kramarik.
Her truly amazing skill, at the very very young age of 4, (she is now around 18) was for me, mind blowing. I had a passing thought that maybe there was something to this divine intervention theory after all. I even rewound the DVR to show Ross the remarkable works of this young woman.
As I began to write about this, today, I decided to look for a link to her works. I came across this article claiming that the whole thing was a hoax perpetrated by her parents.
Apparently, according to the article no one has ever actually seen her paint a piece from start to finish. And as she stated on the Couric show, she has not been able to paint recently because the visions no longer come to her.
That's when that niggling, gnawing, nasty little skepticism eyebrow of mine was again again raised.

When my mother was in the last stages of her illness, she would constantly ask me if she were dying. I would try to brush off her question with words like, "Oh, Ma, we are all dying." I asked, though, that if she went before me, to please come back and tell me what it is like, to die. My mom died on November 24, 2009. Still waiting, mom.
It is so hard for me to accept that my son found a better place to be. He fought so hard to live, to stay here. I am positive he did not want to leave his son, his wife, his family. A few days before he passed away, he promised me that "we still have more time".
Just as I am sure that the majority of people want to know that their departed loved ones are okay, I also know that most people are comforted by the promise of seeing their loved ones again in some form of an after-life.
Scientists say that energy is indestructible and therefore infinite.
So, perhaps, just maybe, the after-life is in the life we give to our children. Perhaps each and all of our experiences, kindnesses, hurts, love, and yes, sometimes even hate become the energies that we pass on to our students, those young ones whom we all encounter during our lifetimes.
Before she died, my mom told me that my grandmother was in the room, "right over there, in that corner", she said.
I also have had strong experiences of the "presence" of the energies of my grandmother, my parents and my son.
And perhaps, just maybe, when my son promised that we "still have more time", he was revealing a greater message to me.
Funny thing is, until I meandered around this topic and put it to "paper" I hadn't thought about it that way. And funny, that, if I can believe in that, then it logically follows that my son became the teacher, and I the student.

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here is today's entry from Anna's diary:Friday, October 11, 1929
Baby much better today. Kept him indoors all day. Went to bed with him early as no one here. Jean at school and Ted to meeting.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Apparently, it seems as though a respectable amount of time has passed since Ophra has moved onto the "Next Chapter". I say this because I have noticed that afternoon TV programming is now being inundated with "new" talk sows.
Of course when Oprah was queen of daytime talk, she had her share of those who tried, unsuccessfully, to dethrone her. Her only real competition was Ellen Degeneres.
Oprha spawned a few protégés, with the caveat that their shows would absolutely not air at the same time that her's did. At least I am fairly certain that she must have made that stipulation.

Currently, in addition to Rachel Ray, Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz, three of Oprah's OWN, and old standbys such as "Live with Kelly and (new co-host) Michael Strahan, the View and the View's clear ripoff "The Talk", we now also have "Katie"(Couric), Jeff Probst, Riki Lake, Steve Harvey, Trisha Goddard, and Wendy Williams. Sorry if I have left anyone out.
I was a big fan of Oprah's. I have to admit I haven't watched her new network. I can never find it and the programming is sketchy, to say the least. Besides none of the shows on OWN are "Oprah".
I decided to give two of the newbies a try.
At first I thought Jeff Probst's show was unique. The format was a little different. The show seemed to be a spontaneous studio audience participation show. During the show, Jeff would pose a question. Like, uh, for instance "how many of you here have ever blah blah blah?" Hands would go up and Jeff would run into the audience with a mike. Okay, it took me about three shows before I realized that the whole thing was scripted. The audience members who seemingly were picked at random were in fact picked prior to the taping of the show. The whole bit of Jeff running into the audience with a microphone was clearly an illusion as it soon became obvious to me that the "random" audience member had already been fitted with their own mike.
The "Katie" Couric show seems to be more of the caliber of Oprah. That is more like Oprha before she started to go over the top with car give-a-ways. Katie is much more low key. The studio audience sits very close to the stage and Katie is within a hand shake away from the front row. She has interviewed some interesting guests. The shows are varied in tone, ranging from light hearted to heart breaking. One of her shows took place right in her apartment, with the studio audience as her guests. I found that to be entertaining.
Recently a topic on one of Katie's shows was "What Happens When We Die?" This particular subject and the way it was treated on the show fascinated and touched me. So much so, that it deserves its own post.
So, I DVR "The View, "The Talk", Dr. Phil, Jeff Probst, and Katie. In the evening, instead of watching the local news, which by the way is filled with fires, murders, and traffic jams, I will skim through the DVR'd shows to see what the topic of the day is. I usually wind up pressing delete, delete, delete, without even watching a single one. I definitely would much rather watch a "Law and Order" marathon any day.

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here are the last few days of Anna's diary:

Tues. October 8, 1929

Still feel ill but not as bad. Took a ride with Junior. Went to Bambs and bought a bird for him. He just loves it and doesn't leave him a lone a minute.

Wed. October 9, 1929

Went to 360 for lunch. Left Junior there and went with Mary to visit Christine. Home for supper. Jewel and Rick came. Played bridge. Bed early.

Thurs. October 10, 1929

Junior not well. Temperature, upset stomach and pains. Dr. came and prescribed. Up until 1 a.m. to give powders every 20 minutes. Then slept together.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

We had a dramatic change in the weather. Yesterday the high temperature was 80°. Today's high was only 53°. It was damp, rainy and that bone chillin' cold.
This morning I traded in a tank top, shorts and flip flops for a turtle neck, corduroys, and even a woolen cap.
Yay, it's knitting weather again.
This afternoon I ventured into my closet and surveyed my stash. I conjured up visions of cozy pink socks, slouchy purple hats, and a winter white shawl. I remembered the gift certificate Anne gave me to use at my favorite LYS, Woolbearers. I rationalized, as only a yarn addict can, that I absolutely needed to go there immediately to pick up moss green merino for that vest pattern I have been wanting to try.
I snapped out of it when I looked at the four large plastic containers of yarn, and the three full shopping bags from my last spree. It was very depressing to realize that my stash is going to outlive me.

In other knitting news, I have finally figured out a way to make sock knitting a lot less frustrating for me.
I prefer to use DPN's. I was having a problem, though, keeping my stitches on the needles, particularly the needles that weren't in use. TaDa! Point protectors on those needles. This seems so simple, I don't know why I hadn't thought of this before.
Currently, I have one sock completed and I am half way through the second one without having any stitches slip off any of the needles.This has given me the confidence to want to try to knit with real sock yarn and maybe, just maybe even a No. 2 needle.
Hmm, I do have sock yarn, but I don't have "Three Irish Girls - Adorn Sock" yarn and I do have that gift certificate and I don't have any plans for tomorrow and it is Columbus day...

So, this evening we swapped out the batteries in the smoke detectors and clicked the thermostat over from air conditioner to heat.

While today made me think of afghans and fireplaces, I am not ready for the flannel sheets, just yet.
I have a good feeling that summer is hanging back and will make an appearance for one more grand encore finale to give us that end of October perfect beach day surprise before it takes it final bow.

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here are the catch up entries from the past few days of Anna's diary:

Sunday, October 6, 1929

Awoke early with sever pains still attacking me in the stomach. Terribly ill all day. Went no where. Went to bed very early. Junior at 360 all day and over night.

Monday, October 7, 1929

Still feel very sick. Phoned Mr Liss, druggist to send me some medicine. Went for Junior then back home and went to bed.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Domani is here today for a visit with Grandma and Pop-pop. In a few days he will be celebrating his 2nd birthday.
The memories of Joe's visits here with his son are achingly vivid. The little blue booster seat I picked up at the second hand shop last year is the same seat he sat in today.
I remember Joe making doubly sure the seat was securely fastened onto the kitchen chair before he buckled Domani in.
Today, when I was changing his diaper, I remember kneeling next to Joe as he changed his baby's diaper. And I remember marveling at how good he was with his son.This afternoon Domani and I went for a walk. I let him lead the way. He was fascinated by the stop sign at the corner. He looked up at the octagonal shape and then down the post. He grabbed onto the post and shook it, looking up to see if the sign would move. As I watched him, I could picture Joe telling Domani all about the sign, what it meant, how it was installed into the ground and even why it moved when he shook it.
Today, is October 5. Ten months ago, on December 5th, my son and Domani's father, passed away from stage IV colon cancer. Joe was 36 and Domani was 14 months old.
Domani is a treasure, a gift that Joe gave to all of us. He is the promise of all of the tomorrows that Joe didn't get the chance to live.
Anne is remarkable and I know she will continue to ensure that Domani's life will be good and that he will always be surrounded by love.
But my heart aches from the pain of the loss of what should have been.
I miss my son.

B. nm

I am a member and participant in a community of female bloggers called BlogHer.BlogHer offers a challenge each month to blog everyday of that particular month. The acronym for this is NaBloPoMo or National Blog Posting Month. Each month a theme is suggested which the participant can choose to follow but is not restricted to.I like the theme of this month's challenge. It is simply called "Mask".

The writing prompt for the day is:Thursday, October 4, 2012How good are you at telling a lie?

I recall my first confession, which was the day before I made my first holy communion. I believe I was about 7 years old. At Sunday school and from the study of the Catechism we were taught that humans are sinful by nature and each one of us has something to confess, even a little seven year old girl.The thing that I vividly remember, is that as I was preparing for my first confession, I had to try very hard to think of things to confess. Since I couldn't think of anything, I made things up."Forgive me father for I have sinned. I lied 6 times, and I disobeyed my parents 5 times.”
Oh, yeah, we also had to confess to the number of times we committed the said sin.I’m pretty sure I lied about lying or at least about the number of times I lied. I often wondered how the priest could have listened to my not so quiet whispered "confession" without cracking up. While I no longer consider myself to be a proponent of any specific religion, and I can’t and don’t subscribe to the belief that humans are naturally sinful, I am pretty sure that we all have told lies during our lives. I confess, I have. I am probably decent at telling a "little white lie" (or in Catholic terms a venial lie) especially if it keeps me from hurting someone's feelings.Basically, I honestly believe that it is the best policy, honesty that is. Although I don't participate in a weekly congregational get together of any formal type, I do try to consciously follow the teachings of what I believe to be the one true religion. That is the "Church of the Golden Rule".My, my, And the world would be a better placeYou just wait and see.The one person I can never fool and the one who can always see right through to my heart is that little seven year old girl, for she is still with me all of the time. No, I can never get away with lying to her. Anyway, truthfully, I am not very good at telling the bigger lies (or in Catholic terms the mortal lies) though, simply and especially because I am a blusher.Urgh, I hate that I do that!

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here is today's entry from Anna's diary:

Sat. October 5, 1929

Met Jean and Edythe for lunch. Do not fee well. Pains in my stomach all day with dysentery.

Saw "Black Birds" with Helen Carr. All colored review [interesting]. Went for sandwich at sparks.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

It’s 10:24, Jim Lahrer just admonished both candidates by reminding them that they each have only three minutes to answer and they better behave and listen to him for once or else!

Yes, of course I watched the debate. Now my head is spinning and aching. I can’t wait to flip through the various network channels now so that the talking heads can tell me what Mitt Romney and Barack Obama really said. Oh yeah and they will also let me know who won.

Talking heads on the Body Language of the candidates:

Romney looked a little over aggressive.
Obama looked a little peeved and stiff.
Romney didn’t know when to take the foot off the pedal.
Romney looked a little more comfortable.
Obama didn’t look like he wanted to be there.

Well, that certainly clears it up for me.

A lot of time was spent on the "health (really?)care" issue. Mind blowing, unfathomable numbers of trillions and billions of dollars were tossed back and forth between the candidates.

Mr. Obama, Mr Romney, as you read my blog today, please take notes for future consideration.
I am a living, breathing, individual person. While there are rare occasional times when I think of money in thousand dollar increments, generally my bookkeeping spreadsheet contains 3 figure numbers, with the first number usually being a one.

I recently experienced an incident which may shed some light on what real people deal with on a daily basis as they try to navigate the choppy waters of the "health (really?) care" system.

My personal story goes something like this.

About three years ago, I was diagnosed with a non-life threatening but bothersome condition. My doctor prescribed various types of medications for me to try until I finally found the one that worked.
I take this drug on a daily basis and it has helped me tremendously. According to my doctor, the drug is safe to take long term, but I also cannot stop taking this medication cold turkey.

I turned 65 in July. My insurance company immediately stopped coverage and I was automatically enrolled in Medicare. At the same time we discovered that it was more economically beneficial for us to switch over from my former insurance company's supplemental coverage to the family plan that was offered by the insurance company that Ross is covered under.

We are covered for prescription drugs under our supplemental insurer. They use a different pharmacy than the one I was formerly using.

Last Friday I mailed my prescription to the new pharmacy. I received an email on Monday from the pharmacy informing me that payment for my medication was denied by my insurance company because it is not on their list of what they consider acceptable drugs. Actually, I'm pretty sure that "acceptable drugs" are determined by cost, not by quality or efficacy.

Ross and I spent an entire afternoon on the phone with each of the players. The first call was to the pharmacy to find out specifically why they were refusing to fill the prescription.
The second call was to the insurance company. Of course Ross was sent from one customer service representative to another before he finally talked to the "Right" person.
The "Right" person directed Ross to the area on their web site which contains a list of drugs that they, the insurance company, has deemed acceptable.

The drug I take is on what they call the "exclusion" list.
It does not come in a generic form, which is why, I assume, it is on the excluded list. It is also very expensive costing $10.00 a pill.
On the exclusion list, next to the name of the drug I take, are two alternative medication which, although are not chemically exactly the same as the drug I take, they are also commonly prescribed for my condition.
Both of these drugs are drugs which I had initially tried before I found "my" drug, the one that worked for me.
Ross explained this to the "Right" one. She told us that there was really nothing she could do. She suggested we contact my physician to inform her that she would have to write a new prescription for one of the drugs that is on the acceptable list. She also told us that we could write a letter of appeal to the insurance company and that we could contact the pharmaceutical company that manufactures the drug because they may be able to help defray the cost of the drug.

I then made a phone call to the pharmaceutical company that manufactures my drug.
That customer service rep had two suggestions for me. She gave me the phone number of the department that would review my case and if approved, might be able to help defray the cost.
Her second suggestion was to switch insurance companies.

Since I did not want to be without any medication I felt that I had no other choice. I made the phone call to my physician and requested a new prescription for the drug that the insurance company will pay for.

I am concerned and quite stressed out because I am afraid this new drug will not be as effective in treating my condition.

I wonder why we just don't go to the insurance companies for our physicals. They seem to have taken over the role of diagnosis and treatment.

While I am sure my story is not unusual and in fact probably quite typical, I know that many, many other individuals are dealing with this sort of nonsense. These are individuals who are suffering from life threatening illnesses. These are people who are fighting to stay alive for one more day, one more month. These are patients who come home after going through hours of painful, uncomfortable, stressful procedures and treatments, to find mail from their insurance companies denying payments.

How many hours and hours have you, Mr. Romney and Mr. Obama, spent on the phone dealing with insurance companies, appealing denial of payments?

I have created a page for Anna's Diary. It can be found under the Tab titled Anna's Diary.

I have posted all of the entries to date there, starting with January 1, 1929.

Here are yesterday and today's entries from Anna's Diary:Thurs. October3, 1929
Home all morning. Brought Junior to 360. Went to see Nick Lucos at Proctol's. Met Elizabeth M. at 2:30 and went together. Had supper at 360.Friday October 4, 1929
Home all day. Violet and Harriet came over to play with Junior after school. Sally came over to see Ted after supper. I went to bed early.